Stolen Years
by RavenHybrid
Summary: The rebellion has failed. Life in Panem resumes as normal. Meanwhile, the 125th anniversary of the "Horrible, Horrendous Hunger Games" has begun. Ella, a normal 12 year old girls, tells her story...
1. Red Skied Warning

**Hey all. Just letting you know that this is my first Fanfic that I've posted so any feedback at all would be helpful! :D Also, I know that this is short but it's all I have time for right now. Thanks and enjoy the story! ;)**

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It's the fifth Quarter Quell. I'm doomed. The 125th anniversary of the "Horrible, Horrendous Hunger Games" has begun.

I'm Ella. I'm twelve. Now that you know who I am, I will tell you my story.

I woke up early, at about 7:30. I felt like throwing up. I knew it was the Quarter Quell, and I didn't want to get up. Today they were going to announce the gruesome modifications on this year's Hunger Games. May's family came over to our house for the night. They were scared just like us. May and I stayed in the same room. As our first year as potential tributes, we were pale with terror. May stirred beside me, and we hugged each other tight when she fully regained consciousness.

We finally gained courage enough to walk down the stairs-holding each others' hand as we went. Parking ourselves at the small round table in the kitchen, our mothers entered. I noticed the pain, fear, and worry in their eyes: they thought they were going to lose us today. The reaping wasn't today, but the announcement of the Quarter Quell could doom us all. We silently ate our feeble breakfast of stale waffles, still cold. They were dry and tough, but edible enough. As we finished, the TV came on and the anthem blared at us, mocking our powerless faces as we gritted our teeth in anger and hatred. I felt my gut burn with acid. If those people took anyone from me, I would never let them see another day. But what can a mere twelve year old girl do to the Capitol? Nothing. Nothing at all.

The Capitol seal appeared next, and I felt tears wet up hotly in my eyes. "Order shall reign." That's the Capitol's motto. Yes, if you call a LIVE primetime children's death match order. The lady in the TV said, "Next up is the Quarter Quell announcement. President Cloudson ensures us that these Games will be the most unusual to ever." The picture changed once more, and as the President/Crazy, Manic Dictator walked on screen, my blood boiled again. "May," I began, "If we ever get the chance to...you know, let's show no mercy." Bloodlust pooped into May's eyes. Not because she wanted to enter the Hunger Games, no, but because she wanted the "President" to burn in a very bad place forever and ever and ever. I would be lying if I said I disagree. "Yeah, Ella. His Dictatorship doesn't deserve his cushy and SAFE life," she said, totally and completely sure of her words.

May and I noticed a small wooden box in a boy's hand on the TV. The Deathbox, we like to call it. Inside, there were hundreds of Quarter Quell cards. The Dictator walked over, plucked a card from the box, and then he recited all of the past Quarter Quell changes. The 1st was awful, the second worse, the third unbearable. That poor Katniss girl, what President Snow did to her will remind plastered into my mind forever. And the fourth Quarter Quell was gut-wrenching. But now, the fifth Quarter Quell was being read aloud :

"In honor of all the Capitol children that were killed during the rebellion, only tributes at the age of twelve will be permitted to enter the Quarter Quell this year."

The words hung in the air like ice. My mother cried, May's mother buried her face in her jacket. May and I stared at each other, blank shock penetrating our young faces. How? Why? I don't understand this pure evil. Had that Demon actually just read that? Just after that thought, I felt my heart stop beating, and I fainted.


	2. The Storm

**Chapter 2, here we are. ;)**

The last thing I remembered, before I fainted, was staring into May's eyes. She looked like someone had just ran her threw with a knife and she couldn't believe she was dying. But because of this appalling turn of events, that was now a rich possibility. I woke up only after five minutes to find May sobbing hysterically into the pillows on the couch. There weren't many 12 year olds in our District: District 11. People were too afraid to have children, and the brave few who did foolishly thought they were able to avoid tragedy and heartbreak. I was dizzy for a second or to, but then got straight up and ran to my mother, where she enveloped me into her arms and buried her face in my hair.

I'm not sure how long we all cried, but it was sure a while. By the time my mother had let me go, my shirt was soaked all the way down to the bottom. The couch pillows were drenched. You may think that all of this tearshed was unnecessary, but trust me. It was. To try to help recover from this bombshell, I asked May if she wanted to go play outside. She agreed, stifling another round of sobs. I just began to realize how stupid our 12 year old fantasies of killing the president were. What fools were we to think that two little girls could actually get rid of the Hunger Games forever? I wasn't sure, but I believed in it with every square inch of my heart.

May and I ran to the small meadow behind my house. We played there often when we weren't harvesting or at school. Together we spent the rest of the day trying to forget what the Dictator had just told us and relax as much as we could before one of us got sentenced to death.

As we played, I slowly began to realize our hearts just weren't in it. May and I just couldn't seem to escape the severe blow to ourselves not two hours ago. Yet we wasted the whole day trying. We sat and talked about people at school and other things that are in no way related to the you-know-whats. Basically, we did the same old twelve year old girl stuff. It was dusk when we returned to our house. May wanted to spend the night again, so she and her mom remained at our house.

The next few weeks were spent trying to escape the dread we all felt inside. Every twelve year old kid at our school sat stone-faced and still. Even the gossip girls who only talked about guys all day. The teachers were sympathetic: they didn't like the Games any more than we did. They let us off easy homework-wise, but we didn't like it. The homework was a distraction from the self-induced mental torture we were forced to endure. The last day before the reaping was spent buried in bed, reluctantly rising for food and the bathroom. May and her mom came over again.

Later during the night, sleep came with awful, bloody nightmares. I awoke three times, only to find an ice cold sweat. May did much the same. The morning of the reaping had finally arrived. Once again May and I clung to each other like static. We dressed in casual, twelve year old everyday dresses: me in navy blue, her in yellow. Shakily we made it to the table, ate another round of stale and cold waffles, cried a bit more, and left the house to the square. I never let go of May's hand.

We stumbled over to the only section roped off of the crowd. Only one age was dying this year. The Capitol woman took her place on the stage, along with the District 11 mentor, Seeder. She looked like she was in pain. The Capitol woman had green hair and a faint blue tint on her skin. As she rose from her seat, I gasped inwardly as I knew that my whole life could end, right here, right now.

"Ladies first!" I heard, in the ridiculous Capitol speech. The reaping ball was dangerously sparse with names. The woman dropped her hand in, circled it a few times, and then drew out a name. She was about to read it. And then, with horror filling my heart, she read the name:

"May Forester"

Forester was May's last name.


	3. Desperation

What? What did she just say? I was paralyzed with shock and fear. With horror I watched as May walked, like she was being pulled toward the stage. Then suddenly a few of my nerves fired, and I ran like mad. Sprinting like a cheetah, I grabbed May's arm and started to pull her away. Unaware of the commotion behind me, I faintly heard people screaming and...cheering. Chanting my name. How do they know me?

May started to struggle, screaming at me to let go, saying that they would hurt me. I ignored her advice, actually, I wasn't really paying much attention to anything in my final desperate attempt to keep her.

The thought of May's imminent death and the people cheering gave me incentive to not give up. Then the old motto, "don't hate the player, hate the game" suddenly popped into my head. Only then did I realize how true that single statement was. The children in the Hunger Games wanted to survive, to live. It was human nature. It wasn't their fault that the Capitol twisted and warped their minds. With all of the modern technology we have, we should be celebrating it by using it together, not forcing our worst, obsolete instincts to come forth. Maybe one day that could happen.

And maybe May might live through the Hunger Games. What an off chance.

"Ella! Ella! Ella!" Peacekeepers' boots pounded into the earth as I yanked in vain to free May from the stage. I was about to do the only thing that could save her life:

"I volun-" was all I could manage before a Peacekeeper knocked me to the ground. The blow made me see red, and I fell, helpless as May 's image vanished from my life forever…

In my unconscious state, I dreamt of the past.

I remember when we were six years old. We didn't care about the Hunger Games. They didn't even matter. May and I only cared about coloring in our homework before spending countless hours in the meadow among the flowers and mockingjays. Singing, singing, dancing, twirling, sniffing the flowers.

That's all that mattered.

I revisited the memory of the day when I asked my mother about my father. I had never met him. She said that couldn't even remember him now. I knew she was lying. I can read people like books. It seemed as though the memory hurt her. Well, whoever my father was, I hope he doesn't come back to hurt my mom again. Unless, of course, if she wants him to come back. I wish she could find the courage to at least tell me about him. I wanted to know.

Then my dreamy haze changed again. This time, May, her mother, father, my mother and I were all flying. We were flying on the black-and-white wings of mockingjays. We were all singing Rue's lullaby in three-part harmony. May and I were together, holding hands and smiling as we sang. I hoped subconsciously that I would remember this dream forever. I wanted to remember something impossible.

It feels satisfying in a way to know that you have something that the Capitol could never have.

And then the worst thing happened: I woke up.

After I fully regained my head, my first thought was _May! Where is she? _After a few seconds of complete and utter panic, I began to put my mind back together. I realized then that I was inside my bedroom, sitting up straight like a lodge pole tree. I couldn't remember much, only that I was really worried about May and that I hadn't seen her since—the reaping! They took her! Her name was drawn! At that moment, that short, painful moment, everything came flooding back: my wild attempt to drag my best friend away, the people chanting my name, the Peacekeepers knocking me out.

Frantically, I bolted up and ran like mad down the stairs and into my kitchen to find my mother, May's mother and… May herself. She hadn't gotten on the train. She was still here. But how? Then I recalled that tributes were allowed an hour for goodbyes. Then I looked out to the window; the sun was beginning to set. I was out much longer than any single hour. Quickly I ran over to May and nearly choked her to death from the hug I gave her.

"May!" I half-screamed half-shrieked. The girl was crying like crazy. "Why are you still here?" I inquired. May sniffled heavily and refused to look at my face. I didn't understand. Then, a few seconds later in my confusion, May slowly turned to face me. She burst into new tears, hot and runny down her young twelve-year-old cheeks. Next, she said something that brought joy flying through my heart:

"They're not taking me," she said, barely holding back a sob.

"That's grea—"

"They're taking you." She finished.

I think I died at that second, but I did not cry. I was like a rock: silent, unable to move, speak or breathe. It was quite a while before I managed unsurprisingly weak "why".

"Well, I b-broke my leg," I looked down, only just realizing the large cast encasing her left leg. "I w-was walking up t-to the stage and I f-fell on the ground. M-my leg twisted and broke, so they can't take me. Then the woman on the stage looked at you. She heard you say 'I volun—' before the Peacekeeper hit you. Then she said to me 'well I guess we can't take you. We'll take that girl since she was about volunteer anyway. You know her?' And I said 'she's my best friend' and then," May could barely talk. She was more like sobbing her words through, "that horrible woman said 'well I guess she didn't want you to have all the glory'. Can you believe that? That terrible person said that you were keeping me from _glory_. What glory is there in dying because the adults say you have to?"

Poor kid.

But right now, all that I thought about was how May was safe and I was getting what I wanted:

A chance to save her life and let mine fade away.


	4. Final Words

**Sorry about the length. I really wanna write more but I usually don't have a lot of time. Thanks for reading. Oh, I also I noticed that I failed to provide a disclaimer:**

**I OWN NOTHING ABOUT THE HUNGER GAMES (except my OCs, of course)**

I went to the woods. No one tried to follow me.

Now that I was awake, I was aware of everything: every tree, every person, every mockingjay flying through trees and bouncing sweet harmony. Even my own heart was beating as fast as it could, like it knew that its beats were now stamped with a number. I breathed deeply, filling my lungs with the air that would soon vacate them forever. My blood was as cold as the hard, unforgiving ice in the winter months. My whole body was chilled to a haunting degree. I realized only too late that I took life for granted. Now it was too late to go back.

The reality was that I was going to die. There were no questions about it. I couldn't fight. I could not lift a sword, could not throw knives, could not shoot. The only skill that I could use was identifying plants to keep my family alive when food was scarce. I was strong, though. I could climb trees and jump in between them. Just like the small Rue girl from the 74th Games. I know of her, seen pictures of her. Ever since that Katniss girl sang her to death and covered her in flowers, Rue was memorialized forever.

My mother secretly taught me the lullaby that Katniss sang to Rue when she died. I knew it by heart and would never let it go. I often sang it to the mockingjays and let them harmonize and spring it back at me with all the song's glory. I had to do this discreetly, because the Capitol sees this song as a symbol of rebellion. What the Capitol doesn't know, though, is that we did see Katniss sing to Rue. We did see her covered in flowers. We did salute Katniss and Rue with District Twelve's three-finger honor. We saw these things. The editors were too late. They were acts of kindness and friendship. Such actions were unprecedented in the Hunger Games, and the Capitol didn't want friendship and kindness. They wanted blood.

I wasn't alive to see the games myself, but my mother saw them.

Just like Rue before me, I am stationed at the top of the trees and use her four-note whistle to signal the work day's end. I felt humbled to be presented with a position so great. When I first learned that I would be at the top of the trees, I promised myself to never, ever let it slip into the corners of my mind. If there was ever one thing I didn't take for granted, it would be my workplace at the top of the trees. The memory of Rue would be kept alive, but not by me. Not for much longer. The only certainty in any life was death, and now mine coming early was inevitable.

At this point, I said nothing. I was mute. I talked only with my eyes. I always thought that death was nothing to worry about because I had never really learned how the feeling of imminent death takes a trowel and digs out your soul. I felt hollow. What would I truly miss about the world? To be honest, I wasn't scared. Just curious. What would dying be like? What would happen after I died? Silently I pondered. No sound came from my mouth. The only thing that left my mouth were the final hundred breaths I would be able to take. However, I promised to myself that the final sound I would make was the sound of the lullaby. The last song. I would sing until my throat was cut.

Feeling slightly revitalized, which is completely wasted at this point, I returned to my house from the meadow. I was ready to leave and welcome death. I had already planned out what I would do.

When I walked in my front door, I saw May, her mother and my mother standing side by side. I regarded them calmly, my face an emotionless, closed mask. First I walked to May's mother and looked into her eyes. _Take care of her. _I sent her the message. Next I walked to my mother. I stared so into her face that I knew her soul was even paying attention to me. My eyes contained a fire they never had before: _Do not ever forget. _Last I walked to May, and hugged her tight. I clasped her hand in mine, and then turned away.

A knock on the door told us that the Peacekeepers were here to take me away. They entered our house noisily, briefly looking at the three people in front of me, and then grabbed my arm. I was able to say one last thing: "I love you all."

And then I was gone to face my fate.

I hoped that for May's sake I'd at least get to the final eight or so. That way she could be left with a little hope, and then I would die. The young ones always bounce back. She would heal, find a new best friend and forget me. That will be good for her. I don't like to see my best friend suffer.


End file.
